From Lebanon with Love in Ottawa

You just love everything Lebanese, my girlfriend Walidah "Dada" Azzam giggled as I continued to go down on her, lathering her sweet pussy with my tongue. Winking naughtily, I slid my fingers inside her while teasing her clitoris with my tongue. The bed shook as Walidah thrashed wildly, my expert tongue action sending waves of pleasure deep inside her. I looked up at her, my tall and voluptuous sweetheart, and continued pleasuring her. Soon I had her screaming and moaning my name. When all was said and done, Walidah stared at me, wide-eyed, her chest rising, her gorgeous bronze skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Wow, was all she could say.

I smiled and gathered Walidah into my arms, then I kissed her. Gently I suckled at her left breast, and gazed longingly at the Lotus flower tattooed on it. Tasty, I murmured, and Walidah cooed softly. Gently she ran her hand on my hairy chest, tugging at the silver crucifix hanging on a red and blue lanyard around my neck. For a nice Christian lad you certainly know how to drive a woman wild, Walidah laughed. I smiled and nodded at that. I've got it like that. Making love is fun, and wonderfully pleasurable, especially when you've got two people as passionate as Walidah and I. Still, I know that there's more to love than making love.

I lay next to Walidah on the bed, and lit up a cigarette. I've smoked since I was in high school. I used to be a pack-a-day guy but I've slowed down in recent years. What's on your mind Jerome? came Walidah's voice, snapping me out of my reverie. I looked at her, this beautiful woman who was sharing my life, and I smiled. I'm good babe, I said nonchalantly, and although she frowned a bit, Walidah nodded, apparently she believed me. I excused myself to go to the washroom, and instead went to the balcony.

Contrarily to what people might think, the Vanier sector of Ottawa isn't all bad. There are some nice houses, and some of the local neighborhoods are quite lovely. Standing on the balcony, I smoked while gazing at the streets below. Ottawa has become a City of immigrants, and nowhere is this more evident than in Vanier. I know of a Haitian restaurant, a Yemeni-run halal food store and a Nigerian Baptist church, all within a one-mile radius of each other. This part of town is full of recent immigrants, people from places like the island of Haiti, Lebanon, the Philippines, and whatnot. Third-world nations, that's where most newcomers to Canada hail from. And they flock to cities like Ottawa, Hamilton and Toronto. The French-speaking ones like the Moroccans, Algerians, Senegalese and Congolese prefer places like Quebec City and Montreal. My own parents, Amelie and Jean-Claude Duchene moved to Ottawa, Ontario, from Cap-Haitien, Haiti, two decades ago. I was in the sixth summer of my life, and my sister Karla wouldn't be born till three years later. How simple life seemed then.

I've always felt at odds with the culture and milieu in which I grew up. My parents, like true conservative Haitians instilled in my brother and I the value of education, and raised us to be good Catholics. Even when I stopped going to church, stopped attending Haitian cultural events, I still considered myself a Christian. I love the teachings of Jesus Christ, it's the behavior of my fellow Christians that irks me. When the Catholic priest sex abuse scandal broke out and made waves internationally, I grew disillusioned with the church but I still considered myself a Christian.

After graduating high school, I enrolled at Carleton University. All the Haitian families in Ottawa send their sons and daughters either to the University of Ottawa or La Cite Collegiale. To avoid the whole lot of them, I chose Carleton. It's an exclusively English school, and the perfect environment for me. Don't get me wrong, I love my people, but they get on my nerves sometimes. Alright, make that often. I remember the last time I dated a young woman from my background. Roseline "Rosie" Bouvier. A tall, curvy, dark-skinned and absolutely lovely Afro-Caribbean goddess whom I ran into at my cousin Stephanie's wedding at Ottawa's Sacred Heart Church. We totally clicked, and began dating.

I thought Rosie was the one for me, I really did, back in those halcyon days. At last I had found someone from my culture whom I could actually relate to. A Haitian woman who was wild and free, shameless and could give a damn what people thought of her. I mean, the sister showed up at a Haitian wedding in a white silk shirt and black leather pants. I think I started lusting after her on the spot. Oh, and when I found out she was studying business administration at Carleton University, I was thrilled. Rosie told me from the get-go that she was her own woman and did her own thing regardless of what family or friends or society at large thought of her. My reply to that? Simple. Where have you been all my life, lady?

A whirlwind and sexually invigorating romance followed, and Rosie and I moved in together sixteen months after we met. I had finally found my Black goddess and I wasn't about to let her get away. By then I was in my fourth year in the criminology program at Carleton University and with graduation looming, I had major plans for Rosie and I. Honestly? I wanted to marry her. I was just saving up for a proper ring. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be.

One night I came home, and found Rosie in bed with Trent, this short and skinny white dude who lived next door to us. It was the end of our romance. I kicked Rosie's cheating ass out, and told Trent that if I ever saw him again, I'd break his neck. Afterwards, I moved. This apartment had too many memories of Rosie and I. It was time for a fresh start. I did a lot of soul searching after my relationship with Rosie ended. My family was saddened by the news of our breakup. My sister Karla, now in her freshman year at Algonquin College, told me that she never liked Rosie, and always felt she was a skank. Great, now she tells me!

Boo come back to bed, Walidah's sleepy voice chimed in, once more snapping me out of my reverie. I hollered at her that I was just finishing my cigarette. It's funny, the turns that life takes. I graduated from Carleton, and got hired by the Ministry of Corrections. Originally, I wanted to go to law school or maybe become a cop. I never set out to become a prison guard. I just kind of fell into it. The job pays twenty dollars per hour, and comes with a lot of benefits. I'm a law enforcement officer now, got a badge and everything. I love flashing it around to my friends and family, and I especially show it when some ( bigoted ) cop pulls me over and tries to give me a ticket. Usually the guy is cool once he realizes that we're part of the same line of work. Usually. I'm still a black man in Canada, but hey, that's something, right?

I tossed my cigarette over the balcony, and went back into the apartment. Once I re-entered the bedroom, I found Walidah waiting for me, legs spread invitingly. The sight of her like this got me hard instantly. Round two, she whispered seductively. I smiled and nodded. And so I went back to her, my sweet Walidah, for another round of lovemaking, sexing, fucking or freaking, whatever they're calling it these days. Walidah loves the rough stuff, and I like that in a woman. That's why, after she sucked my dick good and proper, I put Walidah on all fours, gave her thick round ass a sound spanking and fucked her.

Slowly, I slid my erect cock into Walidah's cunt, and just like that, we started anew. Rocking against me, grinding that thick ass of hers on my groin, Walidah told me to fuck her like I was paying for it. I'm not kidding, she used those exact words. I did as I was told, ramming my dick into Walidah's cunt, and delighting in her loud and deep, passionate screams. What can I say? I like a woman who gives it her all in the bedroom, and Walidah is definitely that type of woman. We fucked and sucked for hours, until we fell on the bed, sweaty, exhausted and sated. A damn good night.

Lying next to Walidah in the dark, the silence only broken by her loud snoring, I smile to myself. Good sex makes me smile like nothing else can. When I first saw Walidah, I had no idea how fun-loving and open-minded she is. We met at the local Loblaw's, not far from this building. I was shopping that night, having pulled a double shift at a certain correctional facility. That's the nature of working law enforcement. Whether you're a cop, a fed, a corrections officer or anything along those lines, expect the unexpected. If something happens at work near the end of your shift, you're not going anywhere.

While walking through the aisles in my uniform, I spotted a tall, fine-looking Arab woman wearing a long skirt and hijab. There are thousands upon thousands of hijab-wearing Muslim women in Ottawa. What made this one so special? The bright red and black Ottawa RedBlacks football sweatshirt she had on. That's our new football team, by the way. We're rejoining the world of Canadian Football League after a long hiatus, this time with a talented black quarterback. I walked up to the lady and smiled. I'm a football fan. I played all four years while in high school. Unfortunately for me, Carleton University didn't start fielding a varsity football team until 2013, two years after I graduated. Sucks, eh?

In my experience with Muslim women, especially the conservatively dressed kind, they're polite but reserved in their dealings with men. Yet when Walidah's eyes met mine and we began to talk about football, I saw a sparkle in those dark eyes of hers. Her fearless smile captivated me, and her friendly, engaging manner definitely enticed me. And even though she had on a sweatshirt and one of them long skirts that Muslim women like to wear, I could tell that she was curvaceous, with a booty that just won't quit. I have a practiced eye for these things, I'm a brother.

We exchanged numbers that night, which surprised me to this day. I mean, I pulled one of my cards from work, and handed it to Walidah, told her to give me a call in case she ever needed 'personal security'. Sounds like something out of a movie. Definitely not my finest work as far as pickup lines go, but shoot, I was tired from a long day at work, you know? Leave me alone. Even a player from the first caliber can have an off day. Amazingly, it worked! Walidah called me the next day, and we ended up spending two hours on the phone.

Walidah was far more open than I could have imagined. I learned quite a bit about her that day. Walidah was a year older than I, a graduate of the Nursing program at the University of Montreal and a newcomer to Ontario from Quebec. Presently, she works at the Ottawa Hospital's Civic Campus. Oh, and she's divorced. Her ex-husband Farouk Al-Bashir was a Saudi immigrant, and apparently way too strict for his own good. Hmmm. Good thing she divorced him. Dude's loss turned out to be my incredible gain. Fed up with the strict, rigid and boring, close-minded guys from her religion, Walidah decided to live it up and explore interfaith relations after her divorce. Awesome! Her ex was definitely an idiot. I cannot believe any man would willingly walk away from a woman as beautiful, intelligent, kinky and open-minded as Walidah. We've been seeing each other ever since. Life is good.